From the Kiss
by phoebenpiper
Summary: From their first kiss atop the Elephant, Satine and Christian began their secret love affair. Here's a look at what was going on "behind the scenes" during the first days of rehearsal.


From the Kiss   
a Moulin Rouge story   
by phoebenpiper, aka Cordelia L. Willis (email: phoebenpiper@juno.com -- feedback welcome!)   
  
(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters--they are probably the property of BazMark productions and Twentieth Century Fox.)   
  
  
Satine slowly awoke to the sound of dull tapping and opened her eyes,   
peering through the darkness at the humble room. 'So this is where he   
lives,' she thought to herself, taking in the bare walls and sparse furnishings.   
She hadn't really had time to notice the room last night when they'd fled   
here, fearing interruptions if they stayed in the Red Room, but now she   
yawned lazily, stretching, feeling as if she had all the time in the world.   
  
The tapping noise caught her attention again, and her eyes came to rest on   
Christian, sitting in an undershirt with his back to her, typing away.   
  
"What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.   
  
"Writing," he answered absently, not pausing in his typing.   
  
Satine smiled and sat up, bending her knees up and hugging them to her   
chest. "What?" she asked, amused at his intensity.   
  
"Writing," Christian insisted, still typing. "We have our first rehearsal   
tomorrow--"   
  
"Today," Satine corrected, pointing to the dim light of dawn on the horizon.   
  
Christian stopped typing to glance out the window. "--today, and we'll need   
something to...rehearse...." Christian trailed off as he turned to Satine and   
immediately got lost in her beauty.   
  
Satine recognized the look on his face. She'd seen it a thousand times, on   
the faces of a hundred different men.   
  
But it had never made her feel like this before.   
  
Satine blushed and looked away. She was frightened, overcome with   
strange new feelings and not knowing how to handle them.   
  
Or how to handle him.   
  
But she needn't worry about him now; he was too preoccupied. He gulped,   
as if trying to gather the strength to turn away from her, and then returned to   
his typing.   
  
Satine fought to calm herself down. 'Don't get carried away,' she silently   
reprimanded herself. 'He's just a boy. He doesn't mean anything to me.'   
  
But she knew this was a lie. For now he meant everything to her.   
  
She sat there on the bed for who knows how long, trying to sort things out.   
But eventually the rhythmic tapping of the typewriter keys began to sooth   
her, and she regained her control. She slid to the edge of the bed and   
quickly slipped on the pink dressing gown she'd brought with her. She then   
made her way to Christian's side and began massaging his shoulders.   
  
"So how is the play coming?" she asked, feeling the tension in his neck as   
he typed.   
  
Christian nodded, concentrating on his writing.   
  
"What scene are you working on?" she asked, trying to read over his   
shoulder.   
  
"The one where the courtesan mistakes the penniless sitar-player for the   
maharaja."   
  
Satine smiled, remembering their own misadventures from the night before.   
"Read it to me."   
  
"Well, the courtesan says, 'I can't believe I'm in love with a young,   
handsome, talented maharaja,' and the penniless sitar-player says, 'I'm not a   
maharaja,' and the courtesan says, 'Not a maharaja!', and the sitar-player   
says, 'No, I'm a sitar-player,' and the courtesan says, 'No! I can't fall in love   
with a sitar-player!'"   
  
Satine stopped rubbing his shoulders as a wave of guilt washed over her.   
Christian noticed her stop and turned to her. "Is it not good?" he asked,   
filled with worry.   
  
"Oh, no, it's...wonderful," she said, putting on a smile for him.   
  
He nodded, smiling, before turning back to his typewriter and starting to   
type again.   
  
'I've got to tell him,' Satine told herself as she absently began to massage his   
shoulders again. 'He needs to know.'   
  
"Christian?" she asked quietly.   
  
"Hmmm?" he answered absently.   
  
"I...I have a confession to make."   
  
Without pausing in his typing, Christian asked, "What?"   
  
"I..." 'I've got to do this,' Satine told herself. "...I...lied to you last night."   
  
Christian instantly whirled around with such a look of pain and horror on   
his face that Satine's heart went out to him.   
  
"Oh, no, no, darling," she quickly reassured him, holding his head against   
her and comfortingly stroking his hair. "It's not that; it's not YOU." She let   
go of him, and he looked up at her inquiringly, saying nothing. "I...I lied   
about...." She turned and walked to the window, not wanting to look at him   
as she finished, "...about not being able to fall in love."   
  
He immediately joined her at the window, putting his arms around her from   
behind and laying his chin on her shoulder. She turned her head to look   
him in the face, saying, "I didn't think it was possible."   
  
"Anything's possible," he said, turning her around to face him.   
  
"But I...." She broke free from his grasp and took a few steps away from   
him. "I can't do this." She turned to look back at him, smiling as she   
blinked away her tears. "I can't ALLOW myself to fall in love like this."   
  
"Falling in love isn't something you CHOOSE," Christian said passionately.   
"It chooses YOU. And once it does, there's nothing you can do to stop it.   
It's like...a runaway carriage, and who KNOWS where it'll take us, but all   
we can do is just sit back and enjoy the ride."   
  
"And just hope the carriage doesn't overturn," Satine teased, staring into his   
intense eyes. During his empassioned speech, Christian had made his way   
over to her side again, and now she kissed him, but not before first reading   
the expression on his face.   
  
After a moment of being locked in each other's embrace, Satine laughed and   
pulled back. "Go ahead," she acquiesced.   
  
Christian just stared at her, confused.   
  
"Go write it down before you forget it," she explained. "You're right--it'll   
fit perfectly in the scene."   
  
Christian smiled and nodded, rushing back to the typewriter and pecking   
out the words he'd just spoken, leaving Satine alone to smile admiringly at   
him.   
  
****   
  
Christian needn't have worried about having the scene finished, for   
rehearsal dissolved into two straight hours of the Harold Zidler Show.   
  
As Harold explained to the company all his plans for Spectacular   
Spectacular and the Moulin Rouge, Christian looked around at the   
assembled dancers, actors, and artists and marveled at how much his life   
had changed since arriving in Paris.   
  
First of all, he couldn't believe his good fortune in befriending the   
Bohemians. They didn't scoff at Christian's ideals but instead embraced and   
encouraged him. "You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution,"   
Toulouse had said, and Christian realized he felt more at home here than he   
ever had in London.   
  
Though this new home held strange and wonderful things. After all, until   
last night, he'd never even seen a woman's legs before...   
  
Let alone the rest of her.   
  
But Satine had been everything Christian had ever dreamed of. She was   
beautiful, talented, sensuous...and above all, she loved him.   
  
Or at least he was fairly certain he did.   
  
But there was this nagging voice in the back of his head that filled him with   
doubt.   
  
And the voice was her own.   
  
"Christian, I'm a courtesan. I get paid to make men believe what they want   
to believe."   
  
And he wanted to believe in her love, more than anything else in the world.   
  
But he hadn't paid her. She'd given him her love freely.   
  
And he loved her for it all the more.   
  
Christian looked across the room to where Satine now sat, dressed in a   
white coat, looking sophisticated and beautiful.   
  
'But not as beautiful as she did last night,' Christian thought to himself,   
counting the hours till he could see her that way again.   
  
Without clothes. Without barriers. Without this facade.   
  
Just plain, unadulterated, wonderful Satine.   
  
Satine noticed Christian's look and smiled back at him. The sight of her   
smile sent a thrill right through him.   
  
But then her smile changed. It became bigger somehow, yet with less joy.   
  
'It's for the Duke,' Christian realized, noticing the man Satine was now   
looking at.   
  
'I can tell the difference. She doesn't really love him,' Christian told   
himself, wondering if he himself was being a blind fool as well.   
  
'He's just a business deal," Christian repeated to himself. 'And she won't   
have to sleep with him until opening night.'   
  
A wrecking ball suddenly came crashing through the back of the stage,   
almost hitting Harold and sending debris flying across the room. Christian   
jumped out of the way along with the other show folk as Harold chanted,   
"On with the show!"   
  
But the next thought came crashing in on Christian in much the same way   
as the wrecking ball.   
  
'And opening night will be here sooner than we think.'   
  
****   
  
As soon as Christian returned home from rehearsal, he immediately began   
to write. He had never been very disciplined, especially when it came to   
writing. After all, writing was what he did for fun, as a way to escape his   
everyday, humdrum life. But now writing WAS his life. People were   
depending on him. SATINE was depending on him. And he'd have to   
buckle down and get his work done now....   
  
For Satine was due to join him that evening.   
  
Christian paused in his typing to smile at the thought. She'd agreed it would   
be safer for her to come to his room than for Christian to meet her at the   
Moulin Rouge--after all, they didn't want anyone seeing them together.   
And who would ever think to check the modest boarding house that the   
penniless writer lived in?   
  
Christian looked around at his room and suddenly felt ashamed of it. Satine   
was used to elegance and refinement, but now she was to make THIS her   
second home, with bare walls and an uncomfortable bed with wayward   
springs that poked him in his sleep.   
  
Not that they were planning on getting much sleep.   
  
Christian smiled to himself again. 'Get back to work,' he reprimanded   
himself. 'She'll be here soon enough.'   
  
He stared at the typewriter for a moment before his fingers started to fly   
across the keys. The writing came easily to him, partly because it was his   
own story he was writing, but partly because he was writing Satine's true   
character for all the world to see. Most men saw her only as a beautiful   
body, and most women saw her only as a rich whore, but Christian saw the   
wonderful person inside, and he wanted to share this with the world.   
  
And thinking of Satine made the poetry flow from him.   
  
He didn't even realize how late it'd become when the knock came on the   
door. Christian looked up, for the first time noticing how dim the room had   
become with the waning sunlight, and hurried to the door.   
  
"I'm so glad you came," he managed to say in between passionate kisses.   
  
Satine smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. "I couldn't tell," she teased as he   
embraced her once again.   
  
"Come here," he said, continuing to give her short kisses as he led her over   
to the bed. Once there, he sat her down and then hurried over to his   
typewriter. "I want to read to you what I have so far."   
  
Satine laughed, no doubt having expected a different intent behind his   
leading her to the bed. But she was willing for anything he had to offer, so   
she pulled her legs up under her as Christian began, "So the eeevil maharaja   
arrives...."   
  
****   
  
Satine watched Christian reading aloud his script and marveled. He was   
truly talented. And the way that he portrayed the courtesan, as a smart,   
caring, wonderful person, filled her with warmth, for she could easily tell   
that this was how Christian viewed her.   
  
'He loves me,' she thought, realizing that no one had ever truly loved her   
before.   
  
Sure, her parents had, but they were a far distant memory.   
  
And Harold loved her, but like a daughter, always taking care of her.   
  
But the men--none of them had loved her. They'd merely desired her.   
Wanted her. Lusted after her touch.   
  
But not loved. NEVER loved.   
  
But Christian loved. He wore his heart on his sleeve as if the style would   
never go out of fashion.   
  
True, he was a little naive, but that was what made him so appealing. He   
was the total opposite of the cold-hearted cynic she'd become.   
  
And she was hoping, with his magical words, that he might pass some of his   
joie de vivre onto her.   
  
Satine closed her eyes, caught up in the rhythmical sounds of his voice and   
wanting this moment to last forever.   
  
But almost immediately Christian's voice changed, and he sat down next to   
her on the bed. "Is it not good?" he asked, his forehead creased in worry.   
"Am I boring you?"   
  
Satine smiled. She couldn't believe how insecure he remained. Obviously   
he had never before been truly appreciated for his talent.   
  
Just as she'd never been appreciated for her true self.   
  
Satine ran her fingers through his floppy hair as she smiled, saying, "You   
could never bore me."   
  
Christian gulped and looked down uncomfortably at the papers in his hands.   
"Should I...uh...keep reading?"   
  
Satine smiled and shook her head as she leaned in to kiss him.   
  
****   
  
Christian awoke when his arm fell asleep. In his groggy state, it took him a   
moment to place the strange, tingling sensation--Satine was lying upon his   
arm, cutting off the circulation. Christian smiled and lay very still, not   
wanting to disturb her, even if it meant suffering discomfort himself.   
  
Trapped as he was, he took the opportunity to observe Satine. She was   
lying curled on her side, her back to him. With his free arm, he gently   
traced over her bare back with his finger.   
  
Christian had studied the human form in school, in both science and art. He   
remembered the skeleton hanging from the ceiling of his classroom and the   
scary wooden torso in the back corner with carved, painted muscles and   
organs that could be removed layer by layer. But Christian had never had a   
chance to examine a REAL body.   
  
And what a body!   
  
Christian started to trace down her spine with his finger, vertebra by   
vertebra. As he reached the curve in her lower back, his finger fell away as   
he became mesmerized by the dimples atop her cheeks. He didn't   
remember THOSE from his anatomy lectures! He reached out to touch   
them....   
  
And was interrupted by a knock on the door!   
  
Christian was so startled he practically fell off the bed, saved only by the   
fact that Satine still lay across his arm. Now she awoke with a start as   
another knock came on the door.   
  
"Someone's at the door!" Christian whispered frantically to Satine as they   
both sat up.   
  
"Obviously," she whispered back as they both jumped out of bed, frantically   
throwing on clothes.   
  
The rapping came louder this time, accompanied by a voice: "Chwistian!   
Wakey wakey."   
  
Satine and Christian turned to each other, whispering in unison:   
"Toulouse!"   
  
"Uh...I'm not decent, Toulouse," Christian hollered through the door and   
then whispered to Satine, "Hide!"   
  
"Where?" Satine mouthed the word as Toulouse said, "Open up, Chwistian.   
I brought breakfast."   
  
Christian frantically gestured towards the window as he headed for the   
door. "In a...in a moment, Toulouse," he said, watching as Satine went out   
the window and hid around the corner. Once he was sure she was out of   
sight, Christian tentatively opened the door. "Toulouse, I...."   
  
But Toulouse barged in, carrying a tray of food and flowers, saying, "So   
how are the little lovebirds this morning?"   
  
"Pardon?" Christian asked, not sure he'd heard Toulouse correctly.   
  
Toulouse set down the tray on the dresser and then looked around,   
confused. "Where's Satine? Didn't she stay the night?"   
  
"What?!" Christian asked, appalled.   
  
Satine appeared in the window. "Toulouse?"   
  
"There you are," Toulouse said, smiling at her. "I brought breakfast for you   
two."   
  
"But...but...how did you know?" Christian stammered as Satine came back   
inside and returned to his side.   
  
"Know what?" Toulouse asked, setting up plates full of croissants and   
grapes for the two lovers. "That you two were in love? It's obvious."   
  
Satine stared at the short-statured man, clearly as nervous about their secret   
getting out as Christian. "But... we said nothing."   
  
"You didn't need to say anything--your looks said it all." Toulouse turned   
to present the breakfast plates to the two of them and for the first time saw   
the fear on their faces. "Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me.   
Here." He handed them the plates and then turned back to the tray and   
picked up the flowers. "I brought these to cheer up the room," he said,   
starting to place them decoratively around.   
  
Satine and Christian were too amazed to speak and merely sat down side by   
side on the bed, staring alternately at Toulouse and the plates he'd handed   
them.   
  
Once Toulouse was done, he turned back to them. "Eat!" he insisted.   
"You've got time--rehearsal doesn't start for a few hours yet."   
  
Christian finally found his voice. "Toulouse, why...why are you doing   
this?"   
  
Toulouse smiled and walked over to them. "You two are in love. And   
seeing too people in love is the next best thing to BEING in love. So I just   
want you two to be happy!" he said, reaching out and cupping their faces in   
his hands. "I'll leave you two alone now--it's a beautiful morning to be in   
love. Just remember, though--rehearsal in two hours."   
  
And Toulouse smiled and left, leaving Satine and Christian behind in   
stunned silence.   
  
****   
  
Christian looked around the large, open dance hall and tried to take in all   
the chaos around him, feeling as overwhelmed as he had his first night here   
at the Moulin Rouge. In the center of the room the dancers were learning   
their steps to the steady beat of the choreographer. This beat, however,   
contrasted sharply with the music that Satie and the other musicians were   
working on over by the stage. The Principals, plus the writer and the   
investor, were all blocking out scenes in an alcove on the side. And above   
it all, the sound of hammers and other construction noises blared out from   
behind the stage.   
  
It was not exactly like the quiet morning Christian and Satine had just spent.   
Toulouse had been right--it was a beautiful morning to be in love, and they   
had made the most of it. But knowing how important it was to keep their   
love a secret, they had parted well before rehearsal time, allowing Satine the   
opportunity to return early to the Moulin Rouge and get ready.   
  
And now she was standing in the midst of the men, concentrating intently   
on the script, HIS script, that she now grasped in her delicate hand, and   
Christian thought she'd never looked more beautiful.   
  
"Chwistian."   
  
Toulouse's voice made Christian instantly return from his reverie, trying to   
focus on what was going on in the rehearsal. "What?"   
  
"Chwistian, where am I?" Toulouse asked, tottling over to where Christian   
sat perched on a stool.   
  
Christian stared at him, confused. "What?"   
  
"In the scene!" Toulouse explained, shaking his pages at Christian. "It's the   
first scene with the sitar-player, and yet I, the magical sitar, am not in it."   
  
"Oh," Christian said, looking down in his own script and trying to find   
where they were.   
  
"Zee audience must know about zee magical sitar," the Argentinian said.   
"Without it, zee play means NOTHING."   
  
"Yes...yes...yes, of course," Christian said, feeling even more overwhelmed.   
"Um...how about...." Christian trailed off, staring blankly at his own words   
upon the page.   
  
"How about I say something about the courtesan?" Toulouse suggested. "I   
could say--"   
  
"'She is truly beautiful'," Christian said, staring intently at Satine, who   
blushed and looked down.   
  
"Oh, that's perfect," Harold said, clapping his hands together.   
  
"I don't know," the Duke interjected. "I think he should suggest something   
about what's going to happen later on. You know, some   
FORESHADOWING. Perhaps something like, 'She is truly beautiful, but--   
'"   
  
"'--But beware'," Christian continued dramatically, "'for whosoever loves   
her shall surely suffer a life of sadness'."   
  
Everyone turned and stared at Christian, aghast.   
  
The Duke was the first to speak. "I was thinking something a little less   
tragic. I was thinking something more along the lines of, 'She is truly   
beautiful, but she is trouble'."   
  
"But I can't say that," Toulouse insisted. "Remember, I only speak the   
truth."   
  
"Yes, but zee courtesan IS trouble," the Argentinian pointed out. "She hurts   
everyone around her."   
  
"But not on purpose, " Satine said, speaking up for her character. "She   
clearly doesn't MEAN to hurt the penniless sitar-player."   
  
"But what about zee maharaja?" the Argentinian said. "She lies to him   
without remorse."   
  
"Because she doesn't LOVE him," Toulouse said.   
  
"Let's not argue," Harold said. "Christian is the writer--he'll decide what the   
sitar should say."   
  
Christian cleared his throat and stared down at the papers he was holding, as   
if the answers were hidden somewhere on them. "Uh...yes...well...for now   
let's just have you say what the Duke suggested...."   
  
The Duke smiled proudly and repeated, "'She is truly beautiful, but she is   
trouble'."   
  
"...And I'll...uh...come up with something else later," Christian said, hoping   
to end the discussion.   
  
The Duke looked somewhat disappointed that his line wasn't going to be a   
permanent addition to the script as Toulouse hurried over next to the   
Argentinian to say his new line.   
  
Christian sighed. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought.   
  
****   
  
At the noon break, Christian, Satine, and Toulouse all returned to   
Christian's room to rehash the morning's events.   
  
"Your script is WONDERFUL," Satine boasted. "Everyone loved it."   
  
"Are you certain?" Christian asked doubtfully, once again making Satine   
marvel at his lack of confidence. "Everyone wanted to make changes."   
  
"Everyone ALWAYS wants to make changes," Toulouse said, pouring a   
drink for himself. "That's the nature of the theatre."   
  
"Oh," Christian said.   
  
"Trust me," Satine said, putting her hand on top of his and staring into his   
eyes. "They loved it."   
  
Christian smiled weakly, obviously not quite believing her, and Satine   
realized how new and strange everything must've seemed to him.   
  
As if reading her thoughts, Christian said, "I...I don't want to seem wet   
behind the ears, but...."   
  
"You felt a bit overwhelmed today," Satine finished for him.   
  
Christian's eyes grew wide with surprise and relief. "Yes."   
  
"You'll get used to it," Toulouse said dismissively, taking a drink.   
  
"But it was all so new--I have so many questions," Christian said.   
  
Satine smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. "Like what?"   
  
"Like...the dancers," Christian said. "They were only wearing...you   
know...their...their underthings."   
  
Satine grinned at his embarrassment. "You mean the corsets?"   
  
Christian nodded, blushing.   
  
"The real costumes aren't even started yet," Toulouse said.   
  
"But if the dancers don't practice with their corsets, they won't learn the   
moves correctly," Satine explained.   
  
"Oh," Christian said, nodding his head in understanding.   
  
Satine smiled at his inexperience. "What else?"   
  
Christian thought for a moment before saying, "There seemed to be a lot   
of...undercurrents. Tension. Things that weren't being said aloud."   
  
Turning to Toulouse, Satine said, "Maybe we should fill Christian in on   
things."   
  
"What do you mean?" Toulouse asked, already on his next drink.   
  
"You know. Backstage gossip. Who's kissing who. That sort of thing."   
  
Christian started to perk up. "You know who's kissing who?"   
  
"Of course," Satine said. "I've worked with these people for years."   
  
"Though it's everchanging," Toulouse said. "For example, did you know   
about Nini and Chocolat?"   
  
"No!" Satine said, shocked. "I thought Nini liked your Argentinian."   
  
"Not anymore," Toulouse said. "Or at least not at the party the other night."   
  
Satine smiled. "No wonder Chocolat has seemed so melancholy lately."   
  
"Well, you know how Nini treats her men," Toulouse said. "She chews   
them up and spits them out."   
  
Satine shook her head. "Poor Chocolat--he's so sensitive anyway."   
  
Christian grinned, and Satine saw how much he was enjoying this. "So who   
else?" he asked.   
  
"Let's see," Satine said, trying to think. Turning to Toulouse, she asked,   
"Who's the Argentinian with now?"   
  
Toulouse shrugged. "Some society friend of Remi's--I don't know her   
name."   
  
"Interesting," she said.   
  
"Who else?" Christian asked eagerly, hungering for more gossip.   
  
"Well, Harold and Marie, obviously," Satine said. "They've been together   
for years."   
  
"And Benoit and Sylvie have outlasted everyone's predictions," Toulouse   
pointed out.   
  
"Oh yes," Satine said. "Especially since he was basically her rebound after   
Giraud."   
  
"Now it's Giraud and Chantal," Toulouse continued. "Pierre and Bichette."   
  
"Jean and Lucienne," Satine continued. "Arabia and Madeleine."   
  
"Wait." Christian looked confused. "Isn't Arabia a girl?"   
  
Satine nodded, not understanding his confusion. "Yes."   
  
"And...isn't Madeleine a girl?"   
  
Satine laughed. "Of course."   
  
But Christian still wasn't getting it. "But why would a girl be kissing   
another girl?"   
  
Satine and Toulouse both stared at Christian's naivete. Homosexuality was   
just another part of the Bohemian world they both lived in, but to Christian   
it was a foreign concept.   
  
"He's English," Toulouse finally said. "They don't really speak of such   
things."   
  
"What things?" Christian asked, still very confused.   
  
Satine looked to Toulouse for help in explaining, but instead he headed for   
the door.   
  
"I'll let YOU explain, Satine," Toulouse said. "I need more alcohol, and   
you two need to be alone." And he hurried out the door.   
  
Satine watched him leave and then turned to Christian, who was sitting next   
to her on the bed, looking at her with expectant eyes. Satine was   
continuously amazed by his purity and innocence, and she suddenly realized   
that she was his passport to the underworld.   
  
But he was excited to undertake the journey.   
  
"So, explain it to me," Christian said.   
  
Satine merely answered with a kiss.   
  
****   
  
That afternoon Christian spent the rehearsal with Satie and the other   
musicians in order to work on the music for the show. But while they   
played the latest arrangement of "The hills are alive with the sound of   
music", Christian's eyes and mind were elsewhere.   
  
Across the room in the curtained alcove, Harold, Toulouse, and the   
Argentinian were rehearsing a scene. As Satine had no lines, she was   
sitting off to the side with the Duke. And although Christian could hear   
nothing of their conversation across the noisy room, he could see Satine   
smile and could almost hear her laugh in his head. He wanted to rush over   
there and make them stop, make Satine stop giving her smiles away for free.   
  
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.   
  
'She doesn't love him,' he thought, trying hard to convince himself as the   
Duke took up Satine's hand and gave it a tender kiss.   
  
'She loves me.'   
  
Satine smiled joyously back at the Duke, and Christian had to look away.   
  
A break was announced for the dancers, and they began to spread   
throughout the large dance hall, finding places to sit and rest their feet.   
Christian watched as several of the Diamond Dogs sat down nearby, and he   
soon realized that he was not the only one who'd been watching Satine and   
the Duke.   
  
"Did ya see the two of them?" the larger woman asked, biting into an apple.   
"Makes me sick to my stomach."   
  
"Doesn't seem to have affected your appetite any," a younger girl teased.   
  
"But did you see the plans for her dressing room?" a dancer with darker skin   
asked. "It's almost as big as ours, and it's only for her."   
  
The one that Christian knew as Nini answered, "That's what you get when   
you sleep with the investor."   
  
"Oh, but she's NOT," the younger girl said, her eyes twinkling. "From what   
I hear, she told him she wants to wait until opening night. And he's so   
smitten, he agreed."   
  
"That's BRILLIANT!" the darker skinned girl said admiringly. "I wish I'D   
thought of it."   
  
"You know, life ain't fair," Nini said, glaring across the room at Satine.   
"Starring role, her own dressing room, and she don't even have to sleep with   
the slime--that bitch has all the luck."   
  
Christian shook with anger at her comment, but he knew he couldn't say   
anything. Not that he was worried that the dancers would know he was   
eavesdropping--they didn't seem to care WHO heard their conversations.   
But if he defended Satine, they might suspect the truth about him and her,   
and that was to be avoided at all costs.   
  
But how could he just stand by and NOT defend her? That's not the way he   
was brought up.   
  
Of course, he also wasn't brought up to associate with whores and   
bohemians, yet here he was. Christian felt all his morals quickly slipping   
away, and he began to hear his father's voice booming at him once again.   
  
"Christian!"   
  
He jumped at the sound of an actual voice and turned to see Satie staring at   
him. "Wh..what?" Christian stammered.   
  
"The music, Christian," Satie said. "What do you think of it?"   
  
Having not really heard a note, Christian merely smiled, saying, "It's   
perfect."   
  
****   
  
"So how's the music coming along?" Satine asked lightly as she joined   
Christian at the end of rehearsal, but almost instantly she realized that he   
was upset. Leading him over to a secluded alcove, she quickly asked,   
"What is it? What's wrong?"   
  
"I...." Christian began and then looked away, as if ashamed.   
  
"What?" Satine asked, concerned.   
  
Christian looked at her. "I...overheard some of the dancers talking. Talking   
about you."   
  
Satine smiled. "So?"   
  
"So, they were saying awful things, terrible things about you. And I..." he   
looked away again, "I couldn't say anything."   
  
Satine could see how much this was eating him up inside. "Darling, you   
don't have to defend me. Especially to them. And let me guess--was Nini   
one of them?" Christian nodded, and Satine put her hand on his arm,   
smiling and shaking her head. "Don't worry about what she has to say--   
nothing she says matters."   
  
"But...she was so hurtful," Christian insisted.   
  
Satine shook her head. "She can't hurt US." Satine leaned over and gave   
Christian a kiss, trying to comfort him.   
  
The timing, however, was bad, for right at that moment Petite Princesse and   
Chocolat came around the corner, obviously intent on having their own   
private conversation. Christian and Satine instantly let go of each other, but   
they knew it was too late.   
  
"Chocolat," Satine said, breathing heavily from her nervousness. "I...we   
were just...."   
  
"...rehearsing..." Christian offered.   
  
"Yes, rehearsing...a scene...."   
  
"A NEW scene...."   
  
"And...and we couldn't find the Argentinian, so...."   
  
"I was just...."   
  
"...filling in for him." Satine looked at Chocolat and Petite Princesse,   
neither of whom had said anything. And if she hadn't been so wrapped up   
in her own world, she would've noticed that they were wrapped up in theirs.   
But regardless, Satine knew that they now knew her secret, and she was   
determined not to let it go any further. Grabbing each of them by the arm,   
she desperately whispered, "Please don't tell anyone."   
  
Chocolat looked Satine in the eyes and nodded gravely as Petite Princesse   
looked up, saying, "Tell anyone what?"   
  
Satine smiled with relief and squeezed both of their arms in gratitude.   
"Thank you," she whispered.   
  
"Well...I...uh...." Christian looked down uncomfortably and cleared his   
throat. "I best be leaving then." He started to go and then turned towards   
Satine, a questioning, almost pleading look in his eyes.   
  
Knowing he was asking if he was going to see her again that night, Satine   
nodded in answer but merely said, "We'll rehearse later, then."   
  
Christian nodded and ducked out of the alcove. Satine watched him go,   
forgetting for a moment about the other two standing nearby.   
  
"We..." Petite Princesse began, causing Satine to jump. "We were...."   
  
"Oh!" Satine said, suddenly realizing that they must've been looking for a   
private spot of their own. "I bet you two want some privacy," she said   
quickly, turning to grab up her coat. Chocolat took it from her and held it   
open so she could put it on. "Thank you," she said, turning back around and   
looking pointedly at the pair. "Thank you both."   
  
And, with that, she hurried out of the alcove, leaving the two show folks to   
discuss their own business as well as what they'd just seen.   
  
****   
  
Christian had gone straight back to his room after being caught and was   
now pounding away on his typewriter, trying to ignore the cacophony of   
thoughts that were bombarding his brain. He still felt angry at the other   
dancers for having made such cruel remarks and guilty over his not   
defending Satine. He was also anxious over the fact that Chocolat and the   
tiny girl had discovered them, for he knew that now they must be extra   
careful.   
  
Which made him feel even MORE guilty, for now he wanted her more than   
ever. The idea of being apart from her-worse yet, to have the DUKE with   
her, touching her hands and basking in her smiles-made Christian burn   
with jealousy. He wanted Satine all to himself, all the time. He didn't want   
to wait till they were alone in his room. He wanted to grab her, to kiss her   
passionately-in the street, at rehearsal, in front of all the world! He   
wanted to declare his undying love for her, to shout it from the rooftops, to   
sing it outloud for all to hear! Yet he was confined to this small room,   
forced to conceal his true feelings from everyone.   
  
But not from HER. He could still show HER what was in his heart. And he   
intended to, as soon as she arrived for their illicit rendezvous.   
  
But who knew when she would arrive. No doubt Satine would be extra   
careful tonight after this afternoon's proceedings, and it might be HOURS   
before she felt it was safe to leave the Moulin Rouge and join him in his   
room.   
  
But Christian was impatient-he wanted her here NOW. He wanted to be   
with her, to be in her, to bask in all that was Satine. Yet here he was,   
pounding away instead on the unfeeling typewriter. But, like all good   
artists, he was using his current state-of-mind as fodder for his art,   
translating his yearning into scenes about the penniless sitar-player and the   
courtesan.   
  
"'Where could she be?'" Christian typed out. "'Why won't she   
come?!'"   
  
Christian flung back the carriage return so violently that the small table   
shook.   
  
"The courtesan appears."   
  
"'You are late. Where have you been?'"   
  
"She doesn't answer."   
  
"The penniless sitar-player goes to her, grabbing her by the   
shoulders and shaking her. 'Where have you been?!'"   
  
"But the magical sitar says, 'She was waiting till it was safe. She   
did not want the maharaja to see.'"   
  
"The penniless sitar-player lets her go, asking, 'Is this true?'"   
  
"The courtesan nods. 'I did not want to risk being discovered. I did   
it for you.'"   
  
Christian absently pushed the carriage return back, looking out the window   
and sighing. The burning desire that had fought to consume him had   
waned, and he was now exhausted.   
  
'But I must keep writing,' Christian thought to himself. 'I must get all I can   
done before Satine arrives.'   
  
For Christian knew that, once she arrived, he wouldn't be getting ANY   
writing done.   
  
****   
  
Supper was almost ready, and Toulouse decided it was time to reveal his   
culinary masterpiece to his two friends below. Wiping his hands on a dish   
towel, he headed towards the rug that covered the hole in his floor, the hole   
that had first brought all of them together. Toulouse marveled at the irony   
of it all--who would've ever guessed that the Argentinian's narcolepsy   
would lead them all to this point.   
  
A point that had Toulouse knocking on the floor, hollering down to the   
room below.   
  
"Chwistian," Toulouse called down. "Satine."   
  
"In...in a moment, Toulouse," Christian called frantically from below, and   
Toulouse could hear much rustling around in the room beneath.   
  
Finally, after a very LONG moment, Christian appeared on the ladder,   
looking a tad disheveled and a lot confused. "What is it, Toulouse?" he   
asked, looking up at his short friend.   
  
"I've made supper," Toulouse said proudly, oblivious to what he had   
interrupted. He tried to peer around Christian, asking, "Where's Satine?"   
  
"Uh...she's...uh...," Christian stammered, attempting to block Toulouse's   
view.   
  
"I'm here, Toulouse," Satine said from the bottom of the ladder, pulling her   
pink dressing gown closer around her.   
  
"C'mon up, Satine," Toulouse said. "Supper's almost ready."   
  
Christian looked from his friend above him to his lover below.   
"Well...uh...actually...."   
  
Toulouse noticed his embarrassment and hesitation, taking in for the first   
time their disheveled and flushed appearance. "Am I interrupting?"   
  
Christian blushed, but Satine merely smiled. "Don't be silly, Toulouse.   
You have food, you said?" she asked, picking up the pages that lay next to   
the typewriter and placing her bare foot upon the bottom rung of the ladder.   
  
"Yes, I cooked supper for us all."   
  
"Wonderful," Satine said, starting to climb. "Christian can read his new   
scenes to us while we eat."   
  
"Oh, this will be fun!" Toulouse said, hurrying over to finish the food   
preparations.   
  
Christian climbed off the ladder and then offered a hand down to Satine,   
helping her up. As she settled into a chair and Toulouse continued with the   
supper, Christian took up his papers from Satine and began to read.   
  
Satine and Toulouse were instantly mesmerized. Christian's burning   
emotions from the afternoon had been true inspiration, and his scenes spoke   
of jealousy, passion, and rage.   
  
"'...Thank you for curing my reeDEEculous obsession with love,' says the   
penniless sitar-player, throwing money at her feet and leaving the kingdom   
forever." Christian leapt out to the balcony, causing Satine to gasp for his   
safety.   
  
"Brilliant!" Toulouse cheered. "Brilliant!"   
  
"But a life without love," Satine called out teasingly. "That's TERRIBLE."   
  
"Yes...but...." Christian reemerged through another window and crossed   
over to the chair where Satine sat. "But...the sitar-player...the magical   
sitar...."   
  
Toulouse felt a surge of excitement pass through him at the mention of his   
part. He hurried over to the two of them, the finished tray of food in his   
hand, frantically saying, "Wait, Chwistian, wait, that's MY part."   
  
Toulouse squeezed himself in-between the couple, still holding his   
overflowing tray of food. He wanted to be with them, amongst them. Not   
in any perverted way--he just wanted to be completely surrounded by them,   
engulfed by the love and joy that they were radiating. He didn't even realize   
that he might be interrupting--he was too eager to share their happiness to   
notice that he wasn't really wanted.   
  
Christian laughed and sat back from Satine as Toulouse said, "The magical   
sitar that can ONLY speak the truth says..."   
  
Christian continued, "It says, 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to   
love and be loved in return.'"   
  
"That's wonderful!" Toulouse said excitedly, almost dropping the tray.   
  
"And THAT'S supper," Satine said, laughing and reaching up to grab the   
teetering tray, steadying it.   
  
"Oh yes--supper!" Toulouse said, setting the tray down on a near-by table.   
"Eat up, my little lovebirds."   
  
As Satine and Christian each reached out to grab a kebob, Toulouse added,   
"And maybe we can have more poetry after supper."   
  
And Toulouse himself reached for some food, not noticing the amused look   
that Satine and Christian shared.   
  
****   
  
And so went the next two weeks. Christian and Satine's days were filled   
with rehearsals, their nights filled with each other. Toulouse was never far,   
making sure they were well fed and were always to rehearsal on time, so   
they didn't mind his often ill-timed interruptions. Chocolat and Petite   
Princesse had kept the lovers' secret, and, with added vigilance on their part,   
no one else suspected a thing. Even the Duke was oblivious to their sly   
looks across the rehearsal hall, their longing stares and coy smiles.   
  
And Satine was the happiest she'd ever been. First of all, becoming a   
REAL actress was a dream she never thought would be realized, yet here   
she was, actually rehearsing a REAL play. And watching the dance hall   
slowly transforming into a real theatre day by day brought home the reality   
of it all.   
  
As for the Duke, thanks to her suggestion that they wait till opening night,   
Satine was actually free from the rich gentleman's unwelcome advances for   
the time being. Sure, she still had to endure his lecherous looks and cloying   
suggestions, but only in public, not in the boudoir. And although in the   
back of her mind she knew that she would have to sleep with him   
eventually, this thought kindly stayed well-hidden most of the time.   
  
Of course, the thing contributing the most to Satine's newfound happiness   
was Christian. His youthful enthusiasm for life--and especially for HER--   
never ceased to thrill her. Although inexperienced, he was an incredible   
lover, though Satine wondered if this was merely because, for the first time   
in her life, there was actual LOVE being exchanged. And she did love him-   
-of that she was certain--and her initial unease at being in such a   
predicament had quickly passed, leaving nothing but joy and contentment.   
  
And if Harold had been less preoccupied, he probably would've noticed the   
change in Satine's behaviour. Luckily, though, the transformation of his   
beloved Moulin Rouge into a theatre, coupled with his starring role as the   
Eeevil Maharaja, left little time for him to notice anyone else. For this,   
Satine was grateful, for she knew that Harold would never approve of her   
love affair with Christian. Harold had taught her at an early age that it was   
best, in her line of work, not to fall in love, and until now she had never   
doubted his wisdom.   
  
But since when did wisdom have anything to do with love?   
  
So now, free from Harold's scolding eyes, Satine was free to bask in her   
newfound love.   
  
Yet a cloud hung just beyond the horizon, like the twitch one feels right   
before coming down with a cold, when nothing is really wrong, yet   
somehow things aren't quite right. Although not troubled by this knowledge   
during the day, it came to her at night in her dreams, awaking her with   
coughing fits, fits which she desperately fought to conceal so as not to   
awaken Christian. When the coughing subsided, Satine would shiver in the   
darkness, crawling into Christian's sleeping arms, seeking warmth and   
comfort. In the morning, when Christian would awake her with an eager   
smile, her joy and contentment would return.   
  
Yet her midnight fears were never far away.   
  
****   
  
It was Sunday, and Satine awoke to the sound of church bells. Lying naked   
in bed next to her lover, she wondered what the good pious churchgoers   
would think of her now. Satine remembered attending church every week   
with her parents when she was young, but, after they'd died, religion and   
morality had no longer been an option for her.   
  
Not that she really cared. She knew the church to be filled with as many   
perverts and liars as flocked to the Moulin Rouge every night.   
  
And wasn't lying in bed next to the man you love much better than putting   
on your Sunday best and sitting on a hard wooden pew for hours?   
  
Christian yawned and rolled over, his eyes glistening at the site of her.   
"Good morning," he said groggily, his voice cracking from sleep.   
  
Satine looked at him and smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his beautiful   
eyes. "VERY good," she replied, happy to be alive.   
  
Christian smiled, putting his arm around her bare shoulders and leaning   
towards her, giving her a tender kiss that dissolved into a big yawn.   
  
Satine laughed. "Looks like YOU need more sleep."   
  
Christian grinned mischievously. "I'M willing to stay in bed a little longer."   
  
Satine swatted at him playfully and sat up, grabbing the pink dressing gown   
from off the floor. "I can't. I've got to get up."   
  
Christian yawned and put his arms behind his head. "What are we   
rehearsing this morning?"   
  
"It's Sunday, silly," Satine said, standing up. "Remember? No rehearsal."   
  
Christian rolled over and grabbed Satine's arm before she'd gotten far. "So   
where are you going?"   
  
"I promised Harold I'd go over the theatre plans with him," Satine said,   
searching for her clothes and shoes.   
  
Christian looked crestfallen. "Do you have to?" he whined, sounding like a   
child.   
  
Satine laughed. "Yes." She walked back to him and, leaning over, kissed   
him on forehead. "But I'll be back later--I promise."   
  
Christian reached up and tried to pull her back down on the bed. "For more   
rehearsal?" he asked, grinning evilly.   
  
Satine pulled herself away. "Yes--we can REHEARSE all you want!"   
  
****   
  
"I'm sorry I'm late," Satine said, hurrying into the theatre, out-of-breath and   
flushed.   
  
Harold turned to her and was suddenly overcome by what a beautiful   
woman she'd become. He still remembered when he first met her--a skinny   
adolescent in that pathetic red satin dress, thin from hunger and sad from   
circumstances, yet still willing to put on a brave face for the sake of the   
"show". Now she had grown into a beautiful, talented young woman, and   
he was about to fulfill the promise he'd made to her those many years ago.   
  
"Don't worry about it, my little starling," Harold said, lending her his arm as   
he led her up the rough stairs to the unfinished stage, which was covered   
with carpentry tools and sawdust. "I just wanted to show you how things   
were progressing," he said, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and turning   
her around so that she faced out towards what would soon be the audience.   
  
Satine gasped at the site, and Harold whispered into her ear, "Just imagine   
it. A real audience!"   
  
Satine nodded in awed silence.   
  
"Just like I always promised you."   
  
Satine turned around and gave Harold a huge hug. "Thank you, Harold."   
  
"Don't thank ME," Harold said, noticing the tears in her eyes as she released   
the embrace. "YOU're the one keeping the Duke happy."   
  
Satine looked down awkwardly. "Yes," she said absently, turning and   
walking across the stage. "The Duke...."   
  
"He's totally succumbed to your charms," Harold continued, so proud of his   
little protege. "Have you seen the dressing room he's building for you?"   
  
Satine shook her head.   
  
"Oh, then you MUST," Harold said. "Let's go take a peak."   
  
Harold led her down the back stairs, which were even more unfinished than   
the stage itself. Their feet upon the rough wood threw the sawdust into the   
air, causing Satine to cough. Harold turned to her, concern etched upon his   
face.   
  
"Are you okay, my peach?" he asked worriedly, going to her.   
  
Satine nodded and put on a smile. "I'll be fine."   
  
But Harold continued to stare. She looked pale, which he realised was   
common for her these days, although he was reluctant to admit it. He was   
still shaken from that night she'd fallen from the swing--watching her fall   
out of the sky like a baby bird too young to leave the nest was an image that   
still kept him awake at night. His little sparrow, falling! And what if   
Chocolat hadn't been there to catch her...?   
  
Harold shook the thought from his head and resumed leading the way to the   
dressing room, more aware of the dust now. "The walls aren't up yet,"   
Harold explained, leading her into the empty space that was slowly being   
transformed day by day, "but the new mirror arrived yesterday."   
  
Satine walked over to the mirror, and Harold walked up behind her, putting   
his hands gently on her shoulders.   
  
"Just look at you," Harold said proudly, staring at their reflections. "My   
beautiful little actress."   
  
And Satine tilted her head, smiling weakly back at herself.   
  
****   
  
When Christian had suggested that morning that they rehearse later, this   
wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. But Satine had been so fired up about   
acting and the play when she'd returned from seeing Harold that Christian   
didn't have the heart to say no. Besides, as long as he got to read the part of   
the penniless sitar-player, he couldn't really complain, especially with the   
number of love scenes they got to share.   
  
It was funny. For weeks now Christian had watched Satine kiss the   
Argentinian during rehearsals, and Christian had never batted an eye. After   
all, it was just a play, just pretend, and everyone was in on the act.   
  
Yet one look from the Duke, and Christian could feel the jealousy start to   
burn in his gut. 'That's because it's different,' Christian told himself. 'The   
Duke thinks it's real.'   
  
And why shouldn't he? The smiles Satine gave the Duke seemed as   
unaffected as the smiles she gave Christian, the coy looks and girlish   
blushes just as genuine.   
  
'But she loves me,' Christian repeated to himself for the zillionth time,   
wondering when he would believe it wholeheartedly.   
  
"Are you all right?" Satine asked, placing her hand gently against his cheek.   
He jumped, startled, and she instantly withdrew her hand.   
  
"Sorry," Christian said hastily, reaching for her hand, feeling bad that he'd   
frightened her off. "Sorry."   
  
Squeezing his hand, Satine smiled, staring into his eyes. "You just seemed   
a million miles away."   
  
Christian turned from her, blushing with shame. "I'm sorry." Realizing that   
releasing his jealousy, instead of allowing it to fester, would be the best   
option, he turned to the bed and picked up different pages. "Let's rehearse   
the scene where the courtesan is late, when the sitar-player is suspicious of   
where she's been."   
  
Satine nodded as she took the script from Christian. Glancing down at it,   
she said, "But who will read the part of the magical sitar?"   
  
"Shh!" Christian said, putting his finger to her lips. "Don't jinx us!" When   
Satine looked at him questioningly, he explained, "Toulouse is liable to   
show up at any moment as it is--let's not be ASKING for him."   
  
Satine laughed. "You're right--he does seem to show up at the most   
inopportune times."   
  
Christian nodded, grinning and leaning in to kiss her.   
  
But Satine asked, "So why don't you just lock the door and pretend you're   
not home?"   
  
"Well, I COULD lock the door, but it's impossible to lock the hole in the   
ceiling," he said, gesturing towards the ladder mid-room as he leaned even   
closer to her.   
  
Satine laughed. "I don't suppose they make such locks," she said as   
Christian stared intently at her lips, watching them form each word.   
  
"Who needs locks?" Christian said as his lips met hers.   
  
But a moment later they received a most unwelcome answer to that   
rhetorical question as the door flung open to reveal the Duke.   
  
"A picnic, sweet lady?" he asked as the lovers quickly separated.   
  
As Christian's mind churned, convinced that they were caught and unable to   
think of a reply, Satine calmly answered, "We have so much to do; so much   
work."   
  
Christian then realized that both he and Satine still held the pages of the   
script in their hands--her lie was a plausible one.   
  
And the Duke was buying it!   
  
"Well, if the young writer can carry a blanket and a basket," the Duke was   
saying in his cloying, grating voice, "I don't see why you two can't do it in   
my presence."   
  
Christian choked from surprise, but upon Satine's glare he quickly modified   
it to a cough and, clearing his throat, stammered, "Well, I...I don't...."   
  
"Duke, what a WONDERFUL idea," Satine said, putting on a huge smile   
for the Duke.   
  
And before Christian knew what was happening, the Duke was handing him   
the picnic gear and escorting Satine by the arm out the door. Christian   
paused for a moment, staring after the couple in shock, before hurrying to   
catch up with them   
  
This was certainly turning into a totally different kind of "rehearsal" than   
he'd imagined!   
  
****   
  
The Duke marveled at his great foresight in inviting Christian to join them   
on their picnicking excursion--with the penniless writer along to act as pack   
mule, it left the Duke free to explore.   
  
It was a clear, sunny day, and the Duke paused on the hillside to look back   
upon the beautiful city of Paris below. The Duke noticed Satine a step   
behind, obviously waiting for the writer who was struggling up the hill with   
the heavy basket.   
  
'That's just like Satine,' the Duke thought warmly to himself. 'Always   
thinking of others; not wanting anyone to feel left behind.'   
  
But this brief sojourn into empathy quickly evaporated when he caught a   
movement out of the corner of his eye. The Duke hurried off the path in   
search of the source and soon located it.   
  
"Oh look, a little frog," he said excitedly, chasing the amphibian into the   
bushes. For some reason the frog brought out the macho instinct in the   
Duke, and he suddenly wanted to catch it, to smash it, to prove to Satine   
that he was a strong protector as well as a generous provider.   
  
But then the Duke realized that stepping on the frog would mean ruining his   
good shoes, so he instantly stopped and merely watched as the frog scurried   
away to safety. Afterwards, he wondered what Satine would think of him--   
would she be glad that the frog had come to no harm or disappointed that he   
hadn't been manly enough to kill it?   
  
He sincerely believed that the latter was out of the question. Satine had, in   
fact, never given him any indication that she was anything but pleased with   
his manliness. It was as if every smile was an ego boost, every gaze a silent   
vow of approval. And, for this, the Duke relished every moment with   
Satine.   
  
He couldn't have asked for a better woman. She was beautiful, talented, and   
caring. And if pleasing her meant having to wait to please himself, he was   
willing to make that sacrifice. For he knew that she belonged to him   
exclusively, just like the Moulin Rouge. And soon, very soon, they were   
both going to bring him such wealth and pleasure.   
  
The Duke reached the top of the hill, where a deep green meadow stretched   
out before them.   
  
"We'll eat here," the Duke proclaimed, eager to have the opportunity to sit   
and stare at Satine for awhile.   
  
****   
  
Christian breathed a sigh of relief at the Duke's announcement. While he   
had smiled and tried to make the best of it, Christian was secretly convinced   
that the Duke had packed boulders in the bottom of the picnic basket.   
  
Christian set the basket down with a heavy thud, causing the Duke to scurry   
over, fussing, "Do be careful--we don't want to injure the wine." The Duke   
pulled several bottles of wine out of the basket and held them protectively   
to his chest as Christian stretched his arms and tried to catch his breath.   
  
Without a word, Satine silently took the blanket from Christian's arm and   
gave him a loving smile before starting to spread the blanket out upon the   
green grass. Christian then watched, mesmerized, as Satine gracefully laid   
out the picnic before them, as if eating on the ground was an elegant event   
she partook of every day. Watching her, he suddenly realized that all of this   
seemed so surreal. Their life now revolved around the Moulin Rouge and   
each other. It was almost as if they had forgotten there was another world   
out there, a world full of picnics and grass and sunshine. It occurred to   
Christian that he didn't really miss the real world -- as long as he had Satine,   
that was enough -- but he knew that the real world was liable to come   
crashing in on them any moment now. If once the Duke found out about   
their love, all this would be over, and they'd be forced to deal with the   
everyday realities of life.   
  
But until then, Christian planned to savour every moment of their existence   
together. Watching her now, he was once again overcome by Satine's   
beauty -- both her outer beauty, which he was forced to share with the real   
world, and her inner beauty, which he alone could see shining through   
every kind look and tender gesture.   
  
"Some wine?"   
  
Christian was snapped out of his silent reverie by the Duke, who offered   
him a glass.   
  
"Thank you," Christian said, accepting the wine and taking a cautious sip.   
He reminded himself that he was no longer alone with Satine and needed to   
be careful with every look, every word.   
  
But he needn't have worried--the Duke was too self-involved to notice.   
"Isn't it a lovely day?" the Duke asked, staring up at the blue sky overhead.   
  
"Beautiful!" Christian emphasized the word as he shared a look with   
Satine, causing her to blush and look away.   
  
The Duke took a melodramatically deep breath. "The air is so fresh and   
clean out here. Wouldn't it be nice to practice out here everyday?   
Especially with all the noise and dust at the theatre now?" The Duke looked   
from Satine to Christian. "But at least we have today. So let's not waste   
any more time--let's get practicing."   
  
Christian sighed, still tired from the hike. Satine noticed and, smiling, said,   
"Dear Duke, after such a hike, surely Christian would like to eat something   
first."   
  
"Oh, of course," the Duke said hastily. Turning to Christian, he added, "I   
didn't mean to seem inconsiderate. I just know how important these   
rehearsals are to you and Satine, and I didn't want my eagerness to join you   
to interrupt your schedule any more than necessary.   
  
Christian stifled a smile, thinking of what they'd had "scheduled" for the   
afternoon. If only the Duke knew what he was REALLY interrupting!   
  
****   
  
Satine hurried to serve the food to the two men. She felt guilty for having   
dragged Christian along on this ridiculous picnic, for she knew it was mere   
selfishness on her part that had brought him here. Back in the room, when   
the Duke had caught them together, she knew she couldn't turn the Duke   
down, yet she didn't want her time with Christian to end so soon.   
  
So now here she was in a most awkward situation.   
  
But awkward as this was, Satine knew it could get far worse. Although she   
and Christian had been fairly successful at hiding their love affair up till   
now, she knew that it wouldn't be long before someone, maybe even the   
Duke himself, discovered their secret. And once it was known, she and   
Christian would not be able to spend any time together, rehearsing or   
otherwise.   
  
Which was why she wanted to spend every moment she could with him   
now.   
  
So here she was, sitting on the ground atop a hill overlooking her beloved   
Paris, alone with the man she loved and the man she was supposed to love.   
  
And seeing the two men side by side only magnified their differences. The   
one was rich with money and possessions, self-confidence and pride; but   
the other was much richer in those things which really mattered. Yet   
ironically they both claimed to love her.   
  
But the Duke's love was not for Satine the person but for Satine the   
possession. He didn't CARE about her wants, her feelings; he only cared   
about owning her, possessing her, having her all to himself.   
  
And while Christian wasn't eager to share her with the Duke, Satine knew   
he was willing to let her go, to let her live her own life. He only wanted   
what was best for her, not what was best for him.   
  
And, for this, Satine was certain that what was best for her was Christian.   
  
As she passed a plate of croissants to Christian, his hand brushed against   
hers, sending shivers up her spine. It was as if his mere touch electrified her   
very being, lighting her up like the new electric lights being installed in the   
Moulin Rouge. This power he had over her no longer frightened her, for   
she knew that he would never abuse it, never use it to control her.   
  
Yet this whole situation made her anxious, especially with the knowledge   
that it couldn't last forever, so her stomach churned with unease. Thus   
Satine merely sat back and watched the two gentlemen eat, not touching any   
food herself.   
  
Not that the Duke noticed. He continued to drone on about the weather and   
other meaningless topics.   
  
But in the middle of the Duke's soliloquy on Paris summers, Christian   
interrupted him, asking Satine, "Are you all right?"   
  
Satine was both surprised and pleased at his question. "What do you   
mean?"   
  
"You haven't eaten two bites," Christian said, his concern showing through   
his gentle voice and penetrating eyes.   
  
Satine smiled, being reminded once again why she loved Christian so. "I'm   
fine -- I'm just not hungry."   
  
Christian nodded, giving her a look that showed that he was still worried   
but willing to accept her answer. Turning back to the Duke, he said, "Please   
continue."   
  
But the Duke shook his head. "Well, if Satine is not hungry, and you have   
surely eaten enough, perhaps we might get to rehearsing now?"   
  
Satine and her lover shared a look as Christian answered, "Of course," and   
reached for the pages of his script.   
  
****   
  
"Oh how I love you."   
  
"And I love you...."   
  
The Duke smiled as he watched Satine and the young writer rehearse.   
Although Satine was a great actress, the Duke could tell that there was not   
the same emotion behind those simple words as she spoke them now as   
compared to when she said them to him. When she spoke to him, her lilting   
voice soared as her smile radiated from her beaming face. None of that was   
present now, but the Duke figured that the audience wouldn't notice, and   
they would no doubt believe her protestations of love.   
  
"...But we must not let the maharaja discover us."   
  
"Discover what? We have...." Christian paused to clear his throat before   
continuing, "...We have done nothing wrong."   
  
It was clear to the Duke that the young writer was NOT a true actor -- he   
stumbled over half his lines, as if nervous to read before an audience.   
  
But despite his lack of acting ability, the Duke was impressed with   
Christian's writing talent. His play had intrigue, danger, villainy, not to   
mention forbidden love. The audience was going to love it, and in the   
process they were going to make the Duke rich.   
  
"Illicit meetings, midnight rendezvouses -- you call that nothing?"   
  
"Come closer so I may whisper more sweet nothings in your ear."   
  
The Duke watched as Satine and Christian shared a silent look and then   
both quickly turned back to their scripts.   
  
"What?" the Duke asked, eager to be involved in the rehearsal process.   
"Did I miss something?"   
  
Satine explained, "The penniless sitar-player and the courtesan are supposed   
to share a kiss now."   
  
"Oh, well don't let ME prevent you from rehearsing what you need to," the   
Duke said. He was impressed by Satine's modesty at kissing another man in   
front of him, as if she was worried that he might get jealous.   
  
But of course the Duke knew that it was only acting. After all, Satine   
belonged to HIM, and kissing a fellow actor in rehearsal wasn't going to   
change that.   
  
"Go ahead and kiss, if the script asks for it," the Duke insisted, his mind   
wandering again to opening night, when he too could partake of Satine's   
lips, her arms, and oh so much more.   
  
Satine and Christian reluctantly leaned in towards each other, their lips   
meeting in a tender kiss.   
  
As the kiss deepened, Christian absently dropped his script on the ground,   
and the Duke reached for it. "So what happens next?" the Duke asked   
eagerly, flipping through the pages.   
  
Christian and Satine separated, and Christian smiled at the Duke,   
answering, "The eeevil maharaja interrupts them."   
  
"Ooh, how exciting!" the Duke exclaimed.   
  
"Maybe YOU'D like to read that part," Satine suggested.   
  
The Duke gasped excitedly. "May I?!" He started flipping through the   
script, asking, "Where do I begin?"   
  
Christian pointed to the page, saying, "This is where he interrupts the   
lovers."   
  
The Duke read through the scene silently to himself. "Okay. I'm ready."   
The Duke grinned broadly. "Let's take it once again, shall we? From the   
kiss."   
  
THE END


End file.
